


The Calm

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Dominance, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Oral Sex, Star Trek: Into Darkness, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 12:36:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Khan checks in with his ‘boyfriend’ before the chaos starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Calm

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Khan enjoys collecting pawns. They tend to come in handy down the line, and it’s always good to have safety nets to account for human error. Unfortunately, Earth is crawling with them, and they tend to pop up everywhere, the pesky little things, blowing holes in plans and talking too much. And there are, of course, other uses for them. 

This particular pawn is a strategic play—a member of the newest starship’s crew, one with access to most of the primary systems. One that was easy to bend, will be easier to break, and comes home late at night on Thursday.

Khan lets himself in and waits at the side of the door with all the lights off. The door opens, Chekov steps in, Khan steps between him and the door and slams it shut. Khan has Chekov’s mouth covered in an instant, their bodies flush together, back to front. Chekov gasps, clawing at Khan’s hand. 

“Did you miss me, Pavel?” Khan purrs in his ear, licking the shell for extra effect. Chekov lets out a muffled sigh of relief, arms dropping back to his sides. It might be because he trusts Khan, which would be very foolish. Or perhaps it’s because now that he knows who it is, he knows he can’t win any fights and has no control. Khan reiterates, voice darker, “I asked you a question...”

Chekov nods in Khan’s grip. Khan chuckles; he knew as much. 

Letting go of Chekov’s mouth, Khan slips around him and strolls towards the bed. Chekov’s apartment is kept remarkably clean for a man of his age. It’s smaller than Khan’s, but no one ever gets to come to Khan’s, and he moves it every few weeks anyway. Sometimes Chekov asks, but he never gets.

“John, I didn’t know you were coming today,” Chekov says, still over in the doorway. Khan spreads out on his bed, leaning back onto it, legs open. He gestures Chekov over with one hand, and Chekov asks, “Can I... can I get you anyzing?”

It’s too easy. The original plan was just to have this connection, however much it took to ensure loyalty, boyfriends, if necessary. There were dates and conversation and small touches, little probing looks at Chekov’s work. Starship schematics, starship codes that couldn’t be traced back to John Harrison. Now he sees the excitement all over Chekov’s face whenever he shows up before he’s promised anything. 

As Chekov approaches the bed, Khan drawls, “A good fuck sounds nice.” Chekov’s pale cheeks turn scarlet, but he doesn’t stop walking until he’s standing right between Khan’s legs. 

Before he can sink to his knees, like he’s been trained to do in Khan’s presence, Khan grabs that small waist, pulling Chekov quickly into his lap. Chekov squeaks and grabs at his shoulders, while Khan soothingly strokes up and down his spine. 

“I’m going to have to go away for awhile,” Khan explains. Chekov stops shivering with pleasure from the touches to frown; he’s always such a kicked puppy when Khan leaves him. “I’ll come back,” Khan promises. (Even though he’s never been particularly good, or interested, in keeping those.) “You may even end up coming after me.”

“Can’t I come wiz you?” He looks like he means it, like he wants to. Like he’d follow Khan anywhere.

“No. This is... a Starfleet matter. This is a mission I have to do alone. But you’ll be here when I return, I know, and if I should call on you, you’ll do what I ask, I know.”

Chekov smiles, his cute face lighting up. “If you need me, you call me; I will have dinner ready for you.”

Khan feigns a smile and pecks him on the lips, just lightly. Chekov tries to get more, but Khan pushes him back to jerk his shirt over his head, tossing it across the room without looking. Chekov’s rosy nipples stand out against his creamy chest, and Khan runs his fingers to each of them, rolling them around. Chekov has such sensitive nipples. They pebble in no time, and it makes his lashes flutter down, lips parting. Khan’s never had any problems getting laid, but Chekov’s so _easy_ for him, so small and simple to turn around and throw against the bed. Khan looms over him like a wolf with prey, blocking all the light.

“You will stay ze night?” Chekov asks sweetly, but his voice is quiet. He probably knows the answer. 

Khan shakes his head. “That’s why you’re pleasing me now.”

Chekov bites his lip and nods. He understands. He lifts his arms to wrap them around Khan’s shoulders, tentatively joining them together. But never pulling. Khan surges down of his own accord, slamming their lips together. Chekov’s ready for him right away. As soon as Khan’s tongue presses against Chekov’s lips, they open for him, and he explores every centimeter he can reach, sucking at Chekov’s tongue and pushing it back. Chekov kisses so innocently. Always eager, but he follows Khan’s lead. He tastes like honey and strawberries. Such a sweet tooth. He has such pretty lips. Khan pulls back to bite at them, his fingers threading through Chekov’s curly hair. 

Sometimes Khan pulls Chekov’s hair just to hurt him, bends his head back just to expose his pale neck, tugs him around by it like a dog not wearing its leash. Other times he just plays with it, and today he’s reasonably kind. Kind by Khan standards, anyway. He leaves less bruises than usual and doesn’t let his other hand squeeze too hard at Chekov’s hip, slipping under the pants. Sometimes he leaves Chekov covered in fingerprints and hand-shaped red spots; pale skin like that marks so easily.

Today Khan pushes Chekov out from under him, over to the side of the bed. The light’s low through the closed shutters: just a faint blue squeezing in between slits. It’s enough for Khan to see everything. He lies back on the bed, head in the pillows, not bothering to undress. Even his boots are still on; he never takes them off. You never know when you’ll need to run. Khan only runs with dignity.

He gestures at his own crotch, drawling, “Well?”

Chekov climbs on his hands and knees, down by Khan’s legs. “What should I... what should I do?” He’s chewing his abused lip and glancing furtively at Khan’s pants, probably wanting it in his mouth. Khan smirks before he can stop himself. 

“Touch it. That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”

Chekov sucks in a breath and nods. He groans, barely above a whisper, in that thick, sexy accent of his, “I want it inside me.” He puts one hand over Khan’s cock, lashes fluttering closed. Khan reaches down to press Chekov’s hand harder onto it, and it pulses in that familiar palm, wanting to reach right through the fabric. Without having to be told, Chekov moves his hand slowly up and down, pumping it from base to tip. 

Because Khan’s impatient, especially when he knows there’s a ripe, young ass waiting for him, he orders, “Take your pants off.”

Chekov obeys immediately. He shimmies out of both them and his underwear, and he hops off the bed, calling, “I’ll get ze lube.”

“No, you won’t,” Khan says, and Chekov freezes instantly. “C’mere, Pavel. Didn’t you hear me? I’m going away tomorrow; I want to remember your ass the way it is, with nothing in the way of that.” Chekov looks back, shoulders hunched anxiously.

He wants Khan’s cock, obviously. Everyone does. But it’s very big, and without the proper care, it always hurts. Khan wants it to hurt. The only time Chekov looks better than in pleasure is in pain, and Khan opts for that as often as possible without eroding the trust he first sought. 

Chekov wanders back to the bed like a wounded animal, but his cock’s still half hard. Khan brightens him up again by grabbing his wrist and pulling him down, kissing him chastely on the mouth. That does the trick, and Chekov begs while Khan nibbles on his neck, “You will let me suck it, zen, yes? It is just _so big..._ ”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Khan hisses cruelly. He knows Chekov can beg better than that.

“Please, _please,_ ” Chekov whines, now grinding his hips down against Khan’s stomach, and Khan’s cock is straining against his pants to get inside the wriggling ass just above it. “Just a few licks, just to get it wet; I will be good, I promise. _Please_ John, let me taste your huge cock...” Khan sinks his teeth into Chekov’s shoulder and reaches down to unzip his pants, pulling out his cock. It instantly springs up, slapping Chekov’s ass, and Chekov moans and squirms against it. He even reaches around to rub it between his cheeks, grinding on it like a pole. His head falls to Khan’s shoulder, whimpering, “ _Pozhaluysta,_ I want it in my mouth...”

Kissing the side of Chekov’s face, Khan decides, “Make it quick.”

Chekov smiles wide, like he’s been given a great treat. He backs down Khan’s body on his hands and knees, until he’s low enough to nuzzle at the exposed skin between pants and shirt. He nudges his nose at the shirt, making crooning noises.

Chuckling, Khan obliges. But only because his temperature is rising too much for this little room anyway. He pulls his shirt over his head, and he lets Chekov places kisses all over his chest, mewling happily. When Chekov takes too long, Khan shoves his head lower, growling, “You’re running out of time.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Chekov takes the reminder to heart, and he sticks out his tongue and starts lathering Khan’s cock up with big, broad strokes from base to tip. He laps at the sides and sucks the top into his mouth, and he kisses his way up and down the underside. He goes cutely cross-eyed looking at it, pupils heavily dilated and lashes heavy. There are teeth marks on his left cheek from Khan nipping at him. When it’s all in his mouth, he can’t get more than halfway down, but he tries valiantly, and saliva trickles out around his pink lips. 

Khan lets it go on for a few minutes, then decides they need to get started. He pulls Chekov off and pats his chin. Chekov licks his wet lips and sits up on his knees, getting in position. Khan helps guide his cock to Chekov’s hole, stretched around the vibrator Khan keeps inside to remind him exactly who he belongs to. (Khan keeps the control wired into his PADD, so he can set it off at anytime.)

The vibrator isn’t as big as Khan is, naturally. They don’t come that big. And Chekov wouldn’t be able to walk around with that inside him. This one’s small and subtle, but it does a good enough job keeping him ready. When Khan pulls it out, Chekov gasps, and his hole’s left wide enough to press the tip of Khan’s dick into. He rubs at the puckered muscles to loosen them up even more, and he tosses the vibrator to the floor. “You’ll keep it in you while I’m gone, of course,” Khan says as casually as though discussing the weather.

Chekov nods, mouth hanging open and tongue hanging out. It looks like he’s already having trouble breathing, and his eyes are raking all over Khan’s body. Khan chuckles under his breath, and he scratches under Chekov’s chin like petting a dog. 

Chekov only croons under the attention. Khan waits. Chekov pleads, “I want you in me instead, wery much.”

So Khan grabs Chekov’s hips and slams him down, right onto the mammoth cock beneath him, hard and waiting. It shoots up inside him, and he cries out, throwing his head back. His fingers curl against Khan’s chest, and he can’t go all the way down at once—it’s too big, and it gets stuck. Khan slaps Chekov’s round ass, and Chekov tries vainly to wiggle further down. He grinds into it, grimacing and pressing harder anyway, hips rocking and hole convulsing. The walls of his tight channel clutch at Khan’s cock in a death grip. Even with the vibrator in all day, he’s still tight as hell, just like he always is. Khan wonders vaguely if he’ll bleed. That’s always fun. Humans bleed such a pretty colour, and Chekov looks good covered in most fluids. 

Khan isn’t a total monster. He lets Chekov get all the way down before he bucks up, making Chekov scream again and his hair go flying, shoulders hunching and face scrunching up in pain and pleasure. He whimpers, “Ow,” one minute, but he moans, “Ah,” the next, and the more Khan slams into him, the more confused he looks. He writhes on Khan’s cock, thrown up and down as Khan pounds him into the air. It’s like riding a bull, Chekov’s said once or twice, except if he falls off, the bull will mount him again.

He leans forward over Khan’s chest, fingers splayed out across it to keep balance. Khan clutches at Chekov’s warm ass, loving the way it jiggles in his hands. He kneads it and squeezes it as he fucks Chekov senseless. In this moment, he could ask Chekov anything, and Chekov would betray everything for him, no matter what the cost. 

He stops when he sees that Chekov is getting close. He doesn’t touch Chekov’s dick, because he doesn’t have to. He relaxes down in bed, breathing heavily, and blows his dark hair out of his eyes. Chekov whimpers and squirms on his cock, looking up at him worriedly. “Did... did I do somezing wrong?” Chekov pants. 

“No,” Khan says, smirking. He bucks up suddenly, earning a scream. “I just thought it only fair if you do half the work. Now, why don’t you ride me?” 

“I can’t fuck as hard as you,” Chekov says. Khan raises an eyebrow, because that’s not what he asked. Blushing, Chekov mumbles, “Sorry, sorry.” And he brings his knees up in the sheets, trying to steady himself. 

Then he picks lifts himself up, pressing down heavily on Khan’s stomach, only to drop a second later, gasping as he impales himself. Khan lifts up his ass to help the second time, and as soon as he lets go, Chekov falls. It takes him a few times to get the hang of it on his own. But before long he’s bouncing up and down. His thighs bounce off Khan’s, and his cock bounces off his stomach, and even though it feels _exquisite,_ it isn’t what Khan could do. He lets Chekov go a little longer.

Then he grabs onto Chekov’s tiny waist and slams him down, thrusting up into him brutally, again and again, making Chekov shriek on every blow. A few in, and he topples over, hitting Khan’s stomach and curling deliciously against it, struggling for purchase. Their bodies are both slick with sweat, and Khan rolls them over, stabbing Chekov into the mattress with his cock, over and over again. Chekov wraps his arms around Khan’s neck, holding on and _taking it_ , screaming and screaming. 

Chekov comes first, like usual, except for the times Khan ties him up so he can’t. His cock jerks and splashes between them, and his ass constricts and spasms wonderfully around Khan’s cock. His fingers claw at Khan’s back. He buries his face in Khan’s neck, shrieking, “ _Johhhnnnn..._ ”

Someday, if Chekov still proves useful, he’ll have the right name to scream. For now, Khan still feels the pride—still knows _he_ inspired that noise, even if the letters are wrong. And no one can ever pull it out of Chekov like he can. He keeps pounding Chekov into the bed, harder and harder, until his own balls are tightening and his stomach’s clenching. He holds Chekov down when he explodes, roaring into Chekov’s ear and pinning him down with crushing force. Chekov’s legs are already parted around Khan’s waist, stuck in the air, but Khan grabs his knees and pushes them all the way down to his shoulders, making a better angle to slam into. Chekov moans, “John, John, John...” over and over again, like the romance novel this isn’t. 

When Khan’s completely spent, he still pounds in a few more times, just for the hot way Chekov winces. Then he slips out and rolls Chekov over before he can leak too much. 

Chekov knows the drill. He stays where he is, cheek pressed against the bedding, panting for breath. Khan finds the vibrator, pats Chekov’s ass gingerly, and shoves it back inside, trapping all Khan’s come in. 

It looks like Chekov’s about to pass out. A few times, he has. Khan isn’t above fucking a person unconscious, and usually, if Chekov passes out, Khan just keeps going. Tonight, he walks around the bed, and he leans down as he tucks himself back into his pants. 

He pecks Chekov on the cheek and says, “I’m going away on a difficult mission. But If I call you, you’ll do what I ask.”

Chekov nods deliriously, struggling to ask, “Where are you going?”

Now that it’s all about to start, Khan has no trouble saying, “London.”

Chekov smiles. His eyes are closed. He mumbles, “I will miss you.”

Chekov’s already drifting off as Khan heads for the door, calling, “Have dinner ready when I return.”


End file.
